


When everything falls apart

by Elisexyz



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Camille, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Camille/Amanda, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “You look anything but fine,” he points out.“Way to boost my self-esteem, Fishy.”After Amanda broke up with her, Camille knocks on Fisher’s door.





	When everything falls apart

**Author's Note:**

> Because I ship Camille/Fisher way too hard and it’s about time that Camille got some comfort, goddammit.  
>    
> 
> 
> **Edit** : I had realized that Fisher did know about Amanda in the show (which is hardly surprising, considering how much these two talk), while I had written him as blindsided by the whole thing. I had decided to leave it like that with a final note about my negligence, but it was bugging me too much. So I ended up changing it.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, you might hurt my feelings,” Camille says. She’s smirking, but it’s so forced and she looks so _devastated_ that he can’t stop staring at her, his mouth half open and probably looking anything but smart.

“What the hell happened?” he finally manages to ask. Her hair is a mess, there’re strained tears on her face and her cheeks are so red she looks sick.

She’s looking at his shirt now, and at the tie hanging by his neck. “I’m sorry,” she says, taking half a step back. She managed to sound slightly ironic. He wonders if it’s an automatic reflex. “I didn’t know you had plans, I’ll just- I’ll go.”

She attempts to turn around, but he has never seen her so devastated and- in all honesty, she’s not one to come to anybody for comfort. They are used to sharing stuff with each other, but Camille usually offers something of herself only _after_ he poked her for it. She came to him. She’s obviously in distress and she _came_ to him. He can’t let her go, she doesn’t even look stable enough for him to trust her with driving right now.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, gently gripping her arm and guiding her inside. The fact that she merely looks at him unhappily instead of actually struggling says something.

He closes the door, glancing at the clock. Stephanie is going to be _so_ pissed.

“Help yourself, I just have to make a call,” he says. Camille is already half-way to his fridge.

He inhales as he dials the number, wondering if the truth would do more harm than good. _I can’t go out with you because I have to be there for another woman_ doesn’t exactly sound good.

“ _Hello?”_

“Hey,” he says, swallowing and tapping with his fingers on the wall.

“ _I know that tone_ ,” she says. She sounds accusing.

 _Come on, like a band-aid_. “I’m sorry, I have to cancel,” he blurts out, probably a little too quickly. He hopes it was understandable anyway.

“ _It’s twenty minutes to our appointment, Quincy_ ,” she says.

He glances at Camille, who apparently is trying to drown into a beer. “I know,” he says, trying to sound as apologetic as possible. He doesn’t _want_ her to feel unwanted or rejected, but it was just a date like so many others they had in the past and will have in the future, Camille- she looks like she needs help right now, and he doesn’t feel like he can deny her that. He doesn’t want to. “It’s just- it’s a work emergency, it can’t wait.”

She stays silent for a couple of seconds, and he curses himself for not having made up a sick grandma or something. “ _Work_ ,” she finally spits out. “ _Are you kidding me?”_

“I know,” he quickly says. “I just really can’t postpone it. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“ _Yeah, as always_ ,” she replies. She sounds tired and disappointed.

“I’m sorry-”

“ _Yeah, yeah_ ,” she cuts him off. “ _I know the drill_.”

She hangs up on him. He sighs. He can manage this, it’s nothing new, they’ve been here before. Nothing unsolvable, she’ll get over it.

“Work emergency, mmh?” Camille says, as he sits down at the table with her. “Guess I’m your mistress.”

“What’s going on?” he asks, ignoring her attempt at joking once again.

She stays silent for a couple of seconds, observing the beer in her hands as if she could find the answer there. She doesn’t raise her eyes as she mumbles: “Everything?”

“Everything,” he echoes, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, everything,” she snaps, her head suddenly raising and her eyes on him. She looks like she’s about to cry, and the spark is gone in a matter of seconds. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “You had plans, and I made you cancel- you should go to dinner. It’s fine, really.”

“You look anything but fine,” he points out.

“Way to boost my self-esteem, Fishy.”

“And I’ve already cleared my schedule for the evening,” he adds. “So, how about you talk to me? Safe space, remember?”

She swallows, raising her eyes for a second before taking another sip of beer and blurting out: “Amanda broke up with me, alright?”

He blinks. “…oh,” he says, slowly. “That- sucks.” _Way to go, Quincy, good job, you could win a Nobel prize for literature with this speech_. “Why did she do it?”

Camille shrugs. “Because I- I’m just too _messed up_ -” she says, and her voice breaks before she can say anything else. Her eyes are now filled with tears and it doesn’t look like she’s able to say another word, too busy trying to catch her breath and not break right there in front of him.

He has never seen her so utterly unable to keep it together. It’s terrifying and heart-breaking. He has never been too good at dealing with people crying: when he’s on the job, he can get away with an “I’m sorry” and a sympathetic face, when it was his wife he’d just hug her, because it’s easier for him to show support that way. He has never hugged Camille. Guess there’s a first time for everything.

He stands up and lays his arm around her shoulders, giving her a couple of seconds to shy away from the touch. When she leans on him instead, he pulls her into a real hug, finding himself in the new position of having Camille sobbing against his chest as he pets her hair. He can feel his stomach twisting in pain and anger at the sight, because she doesn’t deserve _this_ , she’s good, she deserves someone who will love her for the amazing woman she is.

“Hey,” he mumbles, in a brave – and probably dumb - attempt to add some vocal support. “You may be a mess, but you are a beautiful mess.” _Oh, Jesus Christ, just shut up_.

Camille lets out a tired chuckle in between all those sobs. “ _Really?_ You are so _dumb_ , my God,” she says, her voice thin and hoarse.

“Can we at least agree that I am a _cute_ dumbass?” he offers.

She chuckles again. “Yeah, alright.”

They stay silent, stuck in that position. He feels the urge to fill that silence more than once, but he stops himself. She probably doesn’t need another lame attempt at comforting words right now, he shouldn’t spoil the moment.

It’s Camille who breaks free from the hug, in the end. She doesn’t look at him in the eye when she mumbles a thank you and moves to grab the beer once again. He beats her to it.

“Hey!” she protests, looking outraged.

“No more drinking,” he announces. Self-destructive drinking is never a good thing, and she’s not going to do it under his watch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were a puritan bastard, otherwise I wouldn’t have knocked on that door.”

He rolls his eyes, putting the beer back in the fridge and getting some ice-cream. He has seen it in dumb romantic comedies: when a girl breaks up with her significant other, she eats tons of ice-cream with her supportive best friend. It’s a little creepy to find himself in the role of the supporting female _bestie_ , but that’s how it is.

“Ice-cream and movies, your pick,” he announces, turning towards Camille, who’s looking at him as if he just grew a second head.

“I’d prefer to drink myself into oblivion, thanks,” she replies, crossing her arms and looking half-amused, half-annoyed.

“But alcohol makes you hangover,” he points out. “You’ll feel even worse in the morning. So,” he adds, agitating the ice-cream in the air. “Let’s settle on my couch.”

Camille blinks a couple of times, before breaking into an amused chuckle and sighing. “Alright,” she gives in. “Alright, let’s try ice-cream and movies. But if it doesn’t work, I _demand_ alcohol.”

“Fair enough.”

She picks an horror movie, probably because it’s the only thing around that doesn’t have an _hint_ of romance to it. Eating ice-cream with two spoons from the same bowl is pretty embarrassing, but well, the lights are off and Camille looks a little less like she’s about to break down any second, so it’s a win.

They are sitting close to each other under a blanket, and he’s regretting not having changed into more comfortable clothes, but otherwise it’s nice, that closeness. When Camille drops her head on his shoulder, shifting a little closer, he automatically puts his arm around her shoulders.

“Better?” he asks, after a couple of seconds.

“Yeah,” she replies.

It’d probably help the atmosphere if there wasn’t a guy screaming his lungs out in the background as a zombie eats his intestines.


End file.
